


Like An Angel Passing Through My Room

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [64]
Category: The Man from UNCLE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Thanksgiving - Illya is feeling old and useless and Napoleon is determined to convince him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like An Angel Passing Through My Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Wretching](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Wretching).



Illya Kuryakin rested his head against his arm, which, in turn, rested against the window pane.  He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but his arm was quite numb from the cold.  Out there, people were celebrating and being thankful.  What did he have to be thankful for?  He was old and the one thing he’d ever really created with his own two hands he’d given away.  He used to be the focus of everyone’s attention; now he was tossed aside, forgotten and unwanted.

He felt hands, still strong despite their age, rubbing his shoulders, and it wasn’t until that point that he realized how tense they were.  Well, perhaps not entirely forgotten and unwanted.

“What’s wrong, my love?”  Napoleon’s voice was butter over sugar, soft and sweet, in Illya’s ear.

“Nothing.”

“Illya, you’ve been staring out that window most of the morning.”  Napoleon’s lips brushed against the same ear and Illya shuddered at the sensation.  “Tell me?”

“Over there, the kitchen is a hot bed of activity.  Matt and Winston are shouting orders to anyone who will listen.  Rocky is polishing the silverware and giving last minute instructions.  Roxanne is working the seating charts to try and make sure everyone is accommodated.  The girls are taking stock of their bar and making sure they have enough of everything on hand.  Everyone has something to do today…”  He trailed off and sighed.  “Except me.”

“This is the first Thanksgiving off for you, isn’t it?”  Napoleon’s hands were on the move again, inching lower to Illya’s shoulder blades, rubbing and caressing at the same time.

“Yes.”  Illya didn’t mean to make it sound so wistful.  “Even after I cut back, I would always pitch in at Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Now… “

“You feel useless.”

“Yes…”

Napoleon’s hands turned Illya so that he was facing his partner.  What Illya saw was not a man with thinning, graying hair and wrinkles.  He saw warm brown eyes, still sharp and alert with their love for him.  He saw strength in the mouth and resolution in the set of Napoleon’s jaw.  Not old and certainly not incapable.  Most days, that was enough to shake him from his melancholy, but today…

The thought was cut off as Napoleon tipped Illya’s head back to kiss him.  Even though their height difference was less than when they were younger, Illya was still the shorter.  He didn’t mind.  The way he fit into Napoleon’s arms was perfect and familiar.

As they kissed, Napoleon’s hands snaked up and inside Illya’s turtleneck and brushed against warm skin.  They were cool, but Illya welcomed the sensation against him, so familiar and titillating.  He was aware of being guided towards the couch.  Some other day he might have shaken free of Napoleon’s embrace and intentions, but now he welcomed the distraction.

Napoleon pushed him back and Illya permitted him to play the aggressor.  He closed his eyes and just reveled in the feelings Napoleon was inciting in him.  He rose and reacted to Napoleon’s caresses. 

Time and familiarity had not diminished Napoleon’s finely honed lovemaking abilities.  It was just the opposite and Illya let himself go, trusting Napoleon to make the ride satisfying and exciting.

Napoleon did both and Illya’s climax literally made his eyes throb and his heart clench. 

“Wow,” he murmured, once he remembered his ability to speak.  “That was… wow.”

Napoleon grinned, the effort wrinkling his nose.  “Always nice to see that I’m still able to please.”

“And then some.  How can I repay you?”  Illya’s fingers drifted across Napoleon’s cheeks and the man closed his eyes, leaning into them for a moment and then abruptly pulled back.

“We’ll talk about that later.  Now, you have a turkey dinner to make.”

“You said you didn’t want one and sadly all the grocery stores are closed.”

“Which is why I’ve had a turkey brining in the garage since daybreak.  I have sweet potatoes, sage, giblets, cranberries, even a can of pumpkin pie filling ready and awaiting that special Kuryakin touch.  All you have to do is put it together.”

“How?  Why?”

“Because I know you, Kuryakin.  I knew how hard today was going to be for you and I figured I’d… help out... a little.”

Illya smiled and knew he looked a bit dopey.   He didn’t care. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“Yup, and rightly so.  Now come on, Kuryakin, we’ve got some cooking to do.”  Napoleon extended a hand to him and Illya readily took it.  It was strong, it was sure, it was love.  And in the grasp of that hand, he realized just how much he had to be thankful for.  He had the love of a very special man and that was all he needed to make his world complete.

 

 

                                                                               


End file.
